FlakyPorcupine

Edwin was widely considered to be one of the better actors of his time. Some even called him the best overall. With a healthy, theatrical love for Shakespeare plays, he found any chance he could to get involved in one, a contestant among critics to be the finest Hamlet that there ever was, and ever will be.

One of the first memories I could recall was my father leaving the family. He didn’t speak a word to us, just walked toward the groves. I never saw him after that day. The part that disturbed me most was how everyone else took this. They all just stood there, watching on with knowing eyes. As if they knew that this day would come eventually.

Will I ever be free? Will I ever be free of this tormenting life after death? To exist as a ghost wandering around in my own despair, just longing to be put back to rest? I remember how peaceful the long rest was. There I was, sleeping in my ancient tomb without a thought to the living. Complete solitude. I was not being a bother to anyone living.

We see the same faces passing by every day, my faithful wife and I. Ghosts walking by our windows, their faces gaunt and pale. Their speech slurred, almost hauntingly so. They held up signs, although most of which read similar messages. “Will work for food,” “Feed me,” “Spare change?” You had to feel sorry for the beggars and homeless on the streets when you run a respected, neighborhood diner.

Hear me out. I don't plan to stay here long. One way or another, this place won't hold me. Yeah, sure - I know 'they all' say that. But trust me - I'm different. No, that's not right - I'm probably bog-standard, but the circumstances are different. And the circumstances are going to make things a little difficult. Unless I tell someone - even if I tell someone.

They say that these woodlands contain the path to paradise itself. It has been a long way to reach these mythical gardens, my knees are scraped and bloodied from the various thorns nipping at my legs along the path. Snakes and sirens were attempting to seduce me with their hypocrisy, but I refused to heed their calling. I was a pure at heart, unspoiled by all temptation and evil.

For me, collecting is more than a hobby - it is a way of life. To me, there is no greater thrill than that moment when you complete a set or find the one rare piece that has eluded antiquarians for years. I love things - cards, figures, dolls, puppets, watches. And as my desire to surround myself with material possessions grew, I found that I did not care for the things so much - but the thrill of collecting them.

-“Hey, Vince, are you there?”- she asked. -“I’m so excited about the mission, Vince! Wait until I tell my friends that my husband is in a scientific mission on outer space!”-she said -“Hahahaha, you’re such a sweetie, Vince! ”-she laughed -“Does Earth look beautiful from space, Vince?”-she smiled -“It is more than beautiful”- I murmured, while I observed the aurora borealis. -ooooo-

You awoke in a cold sweat from your dream, looking around the dim room with a fright. You didn’t remember anything that happened in it except for a loud BANG! at the end, but you passed it off as just a nightmare. It had been a recurring nightmare you’ve had for the past few days now. You slowly arose from your bed, preparing your lunch for the day before heading off to work, stopping at a local store to pick up a little something along the way.

The demon looked much as I expected it to. Standing at roughly twice my height, its skin was cracked and burnt as if it had been pressurized under heat high enough to charbroil humans and strong enough to snap metals like twigs. Though hunched over, its vestigial wings flapped futilely as it threw itself against the barrier of table salt I'd scattered around it - all eight of its compound eyes blinking in confusion, and finally - understanding.